An Imperfect Process (46 page)

Chapter 32

When Rob joined Val in the church conference room to spend the night sifting through case files and notes, he acknowledged bleakly that their vigil was merely symbolic. Yet it was essential to do something more than watch the clock. Every hour or so he would stand and stretch, then give Val a hug. Physical contact helped keep the demons at bay.

It was almost 11 p.m. when Rob's phone rang. He frowned as he dug it out of his tote bag. "Who would be calling at this hour?"

"It's either the governor with a stay of execution, or a wrong number from someone trying to reach a pizza place," Val said with bone-dry humor.

"Hello, Rob here "

"Mr. Smith? This is Virginia Benson-Hall, Omar Benson's mother. You left your card and said to call if I came up with something useful?"

Despite himself, he felt a flicker of hope. "I'm glad you kept the card. What did you think of?"

"It's not much and surely too late," she said uncertainly. "But I've been reading about that poor Daniel Monroe and racking my brain, trying to remember Omar's guns since you had asked about them. I just thought of something Omar said once, not long before he was arrested and sent to prison."

Which was not that long after Malloy's murder. "What did you remember?"

"Omar said that Darrell Long had done him a real big favor, so he needed to do something in return. I remembered the name because Darrell's family is in my church. His mother threw him out when he started stealing from her for drug money."

Rob suppressed his sigh. Darrell Long, the perjuring witness. Nothing new about that. "He lied to protect your son from being arrested for shooting James Malloy. That was a pretty big favor that Omar owed him."

"It surely was. According to the newspaper, that Darrell was the one who persuaded the other fellow to lie. That's a lot to do even for a good friend. And poor Mr. Monroe is paying for it. Is he really going to be executed in the morning?"

"I'm afraid so. The courts have refused to intervene."

"I wish I'd thought of something more useful. I'll pray for his soul."

"That's all any of us can do, Mrs. Benson-Hall. I appreciate the time you've taken to think back over what must have been difficult times."

"It was the least I could do, since my Omar is responsible for Monroe's execution. Good night, Mr. Smith."

He said good night and hung up, but something was niggling in the back of his mind. Val started to speak, and he shushed her with a hand gesture. Something Omar Benson's mother had said? Something he had heard earlier, jumbled together with the details of a hundred interviews?

Darrell Long had done him a real big favor
. Maybe more than lying to protect Omar. What had Sha'wan suggested about the weapon? If it had been him, he would give it to a homey to keep. Someone he trusted.

Half my attic is filled with boxes of stuff belonging to Joe and Darrell from the days when they were best buddies. Worthless stuff, or they wouldn't have left it. One of these days I need to sort through and toss, but it's easier to put it off.

He spun around to face Val. "This is a crazy long shot, but Omar Benson's mother just mentioned that Omar felt he really owed Darrell Long. Joe Cady's sister has an attic full of possessions from Joe and Darrell, boxes that have never been opened. Do you suppose there might be something there? Something that Omar gave to Darrell, like maybe the murder weapon?"

"It's possible." Val glanced at her watch. "It's awfully late."

Late to call Lucy Morrison, and very, very late to save Daniel. "It's worth a try."

Rob dug into his files for the phone number of Joe Cady's sister. When she answered, her voice was sleepy, as if she had been awakened by the telephone ring.

Knowing how alarming late calls could be, Rob said, "I'm really sorry to disturb you so late, Mrs. Morrison. This is Rob Smith Gabriel." It was the first time since he left California that he had introduced himself by his full name. "And I have an enormous favor to ask you."

* * *

Val whistled softly as she ascended the steep stairway into the Morrison's stifling attic. "Look at all this. No wonder Mrs. Morrison hasn't wanted to sort through it."

Rob took her hand to help her to solid footing. "I'm glad there are two of us to go through this. It will take hours."

"No kidding." Val classified this search as grasping at straws, but it wasn't any more useless than sifting through their files for the thousandth time, and it gave them the chance to go down fighting. "Let's see, she said the boxes from Joe and Darrell are in the area over the garage." Using a flashlight Rob had provided, she picked her way to the far end, doing her best to avoid the bodies of long dead bugs. She wondered what her attic looked like and resolved never to find out.

A low door led into the area above the garage. "It's not much more than a crawl space, and the light is really feeble. A good thing you came prepared."

Rob had brought two construction lights with long cords. After plugging them in, he found nails for hanging at the peak of the low roof so the boxes were well illuminated. "There's just enough room to start searching here, then transfer the searched boxes to the side."

Val heaved one of the top boxes to the floor, then sat cross-legged beside it. Her slacks would never be the same. Inside were LP records and audiotapes and a sweatshirt that hadn't been washed before it was packed away. She poked through the contents gingerly, hoping not to find a loose hypodermic needle. "It must have been backbreaking work to bring all this stuff up here."

"A good place to hide something you didn't want found, though." Rob started on a box of his own. In return for the Morrisons' permission to search, Rob had offered to use his truck to haul off anything they wanted to get rid of. Val guessed the couple would have agreed to help anyhow, but it was nice of Rob to offer.

Looking for a miracle, she reached for another box.

* * *

After two hours of searching, they were almost through the pile of boxes and the trash bags containing household goods like stained sheets and blankets. No wonder Darrell and Joe had never bothered to retrieve this stuff.

Rob's eyes were stinging so badly from the dust and fatigue that when he opened the next to the last box, his first reaction was that he must be hallucinating. He wiped his eyes with his wrist and looked again, his heart starting to accelerate.

In the middle of a pile of moth-eaten athletic gear was a brown paper bag, the wrapped shape looking very much like a handgun. He had brought a pair of plastic gloves just in case, so he pulled them on before lifting the bag and peering inside. "Eureka," he breathed. "Val, take a look."

She was beside him in an instant, eyes widening as she saw the sleek, deadly semiautomatic pistol. "Is this the kind of gun that killed Malloy?"

He carefully ripped the bag open to get a clearer look, not touching the gun and minimizing contact with the paper. "Yep. Walther PPK 765. That's the caliber that killed Malloy. This particular weapon is the one James Bond carried in most of the movies. It all fits. Omar wouldn't have wanted to get rid of an expensive gun with fantasy value, so he gave it to his buddy Darrell to keep for a while. Then Omar got sent to prison and never retrieved it."

"A James Bond gun." She stared down at it. "That's almost pathetic."

"Omar's fantasies might have been pathetic, but I'd bet my back teeth that we're looking at the long-lost murder weapon."

Val bent so close he almost warned her not to touch the pistol before she looked up, eyes blazing. "There are little rusty-looking spots on it. Reddish-brown spots."

"Good God, do you think that's blood?"

"Yep." She sat back on her heels, brows knit in thought. "Darrell Long was no fool. Sure, he was willing to hold the weapon for his buddy, but keeping it in crime scene condition might have seemed a prudent precaution. Suppose he was picked up for some other crime and wanted to trade information to the prosecutors in return for his freedom. A weapon that killed a cop would give him plenty of leverage."

His brows rose as he recognized the possibilities. "You have a sneaky mind."

"Thank you. It's one of my lawyerly stocks-in-trade." She gave a swift smile that lit up the attic. "It's even possible there might be fingerprints. I've read of forty-year-old prints being taken off objects that had a smooth surface and were protected from handling and the elements."

He whistled softly. "I wonder if Darrell deliberately chose a brown paper bag like the crime scene techs do?"

"Could be. Or maybe we just got lucky."

His gaze returned to the pistol. "Now that we've found it, what do we do with it?"

"We go to the governor. Sure, there's an election coming up, and he doesn't want to look soft on crime, but now that we've found the probable weapon, the media would tear him to shreds if he allowed an execution to go ahead without this being tested."

He straightened, swearing when he banged his head on the roof. "Makes sense, but how do we get his attention? Somehow I don't think we can just phone the governor's mansion in Annapolis."

"No, we phone someone who can call the governor's mansion." Her eyes gleamed. "Rachel's father, Judge Hamilton. He's politically well-connected and had a large hand in getting this governor elected. He'll know how to get through."

* * *

Julia Hamilton answered the phone, sounding more asleep than awake. "Julia, it's me, Val Covington," Val said quickly. "Is the judge there? This is literally a matter of life and death."

"Val, what on earth...?" Julia came more awake. "The Daniel Monroe case?"

"Exactly."

"Hang on a moment."

Muted voices could be heard, then Charles Hamilton's familiar baritone came on the line, husky with sleep. "This had better be good, Valentine."

"It is." She drew a deep breath. "We found the smoking gun."

* * *

Damn Val and Rob. They had said they would be here, and they weren't. Kendra needed to damn someone or something. Maybe it would relieve some of the anger and anguish that were consuming her as she moved restlessly around the viewing room that was separated from the execution chamber by a large window.

When she arrived at the penitentiary, she had to push through pro- and anti-capital punishment protesters, reporters and TV trucks, not to mention the merely curious. With all the publicity in the last week, there was a good turnout.

Becoming a witness to the execution wasn't easy. Reporters drew lots to attend, and family members of the victim could come. In this case, only one did, a tight-faced woman who was Malloy's sister. Val was allowed as Daniel's lawyer, and she'd managed to persuade the warden to admit Kendra and Rob as well. Except that Val and Rob weren't here. Probably screwed all night and overslept Even as she thought the words, Kendra didn't believe that, but she wanted to lash out at someone, and Val made a convenient target.

The half dozen reporters chatted easily among themselves, but the five civilians like Kendra were silent, sipping coffee and not meeting each other's gazes.

Where the
hell
were Val and Rob?

Quarter to eight. Not long now. Her gaze went to the gurney in the execution chamber, and she wondered if it was large enough for Daniel. It would be undignified for his feet to be hanging off the end.

She supposed it didn't matter, but her mind kept fastening on small details. Next to the gurney was some kind of cardiac monitor. Daniel would have already been checked by a doctor to see if he was healthy enough to die.

There was a collective inhalation from the witnesses. She turned to see Daniel escorted into the chamber. Show time.

Kendra went to the window and stared inside, trembling in every cell of her body. Maybe Daniel was right, and she shouldn't be here.

He looked dignified and remote, a man who was already halfway to a place where no one else could follow. She pressed a hand to her heart, agonizingly aware of their shared history. Joy and grief and injustice had bound them together forever.

Though he couldn't have heard her, he looked toward the window. Their gazes met, and gravely he inclined his head in farewell. Then he lay down on the gurney. After restraints were snapped in place, a technician started setting up the IV lines.